


Time Is Running Out

by erazedtrash



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Dystopia, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-22 15:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13767333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erazedtrash/pseuds/erazedtrash
Summary: As he flees from the government, imprisonment, and his past, Chris meets a camera man...Trigger warnings: strong language, mentions of abuse, graphic violence, self-harming, death, su*cide





	1. Escape

Today was the day.

I looked at the people in the line next to me. We all wore the same clothing - the prisoners' clothing.

It consisted of light grey overalls and shoes of the same colour. We were lucky that we even had shoes. We were prisoners of class A.

You could easily recognise a prisoner class B by their charcoal coloured overalls. They didn't have shoes.

I had never seen any of the class C and D prisoners. They were in different cell blocks, kept in a separate building from ours, behind gigantic pitch black fences.

One of the guards smacked me with his night stick. Pain shot through my arm and I bit my lip.

 _You mustn't protest, Chris. You mustn't protest,_  I told myself. That was my actual name. Chris.

When you got caught and locked up in a camp like this, you got a number tattooed on your wrist and that was it. Most prisoners forgot their name after a while. I never had, even though I had been in this hellhole for over three years by now.

"Pay attention!" the guard yelled at me. I gazed at him and noticed that I held up the queue. I quickly strode forward. The guard gave me a dark glare.

The mass of people slowly moved towards the giant gate which led into the backyard.

The guards started registrating the first prisoners that arrived outside. They made sure nobody was missing when we got back inside. I would be missing...

"Next!" the registration guard grunted.

He grabbed my right arm violently and turned it so that my wrist was facing upwards.

"12/02/78A-84," I said firmly.

"I don't care," the guard snapped as he wrote down my number. He pushed my hand away and I continued going.

I rubbed my aching wrist and gazed at the red marks the iron grasp of the guard had left on my skin. The number consisted of your date of birth, your class and the crime you had committed - if you even committed one. I cut a quick glance at the fences that lined the backyard. I would climb them in a few minutes.

I had it all planned out - how I would distract the guards with the help of some fellow prisoners, get onto the fence, pass the razor wire with least injury possible...

It would be painful and the guards would shoot at me. But it was my only chance to escape. To be free.

I hung my head low again and walked around like the other people.

I caught sight of Morgan, my friend. Prisoners weren't allowed to talk to each other and I didn't actually consider him my friend - according to the fact that we barely knew each other - but we had still somehow managed to have a short conversation and he promised he would help me escape. He would probably die doing so but he didn't care.

I skipped towards him.

 _Please don't do something suspicious,_  I mentally begged Morgan. If he would wave or stuff like this, it would have been useless.

All the preparation, the training at night...

"03/18/77A-27," I greeted him lowly and he gave me a small nod.

"12/02/78A-84," he returned and a small smile crept on his face.

"Ready?"

"Always," he answered and we distanced ourselves from one another, as if we just casually walked past each other.

We started pacing across the yard in an irregular pattern until we met at the fence again. Morgan nodded at one of the prisoners close to us. He was one of those persons who didn't know their name anymore. His number was 10/30/75B-81.

He had pretty much given up on life and for a little of class A food, he had agreed to help me.

10/30/75B-81 grabbed his throat and made gagging noises. He fell to his knees and screamed loudly. Gosh, he was a great actor. If I wouldn't have known that this was fake, I would have believed him immediately.

The action caught the first guards' attention and a few of them ran towards him.

Every once in a while, a prisoner poisoned himself with little scratched off pieces of the stone or gypsum or whatever the fuck our cells were made of - it was toxic, that was for sure. Suicide wasn't an unusual thing in here.

Morgan and I didn't hesitate any longer. He gave me a leg-up and I climbed the fence. I got hold of the top and pulled myself up.

Now to the nasty part. I swung one of my feet up and pushed the razor wire down with it.

In the background I heard noises of more guards flooding the yard. I had to go on. It was too late to return.

I got onto my feet and managed to keep my balance. I was standing on the fence now.

The first guns went off and I tried to duck. Bad idea. One of my feet slipped off the edge and I fell. My overall got caught in the wire and the little razors left cuts all over my legs and my arms.

I landed on the ground with a low thud. Was I dead? I raised my head slowly and saw houses. Actual houses where people lived in. I sighed in relief and let my head sink to the ground again. I was free...


	2. Crime number 84

Tom's P.O.V.

I took another picture of the fence. It was fascinating but scary. I didn't want to know what was going on beyond and I wasn't allowed to know, either.

I would bring the picture to my boss in the late evening. He would copy and print it and hang it all over the city's lampposts. As a warning.

Everybody knew that if they would do something bad, they would get imprisoned. Sometimes innocent people were captured in public - fear was a mighty instrument. So everybody was quiet and did their jobs without protesting.

I continued walking and I knew the people who lived in the nearby houses were watching me. They always did. I was the guy with the camera. The guy who took pictures of the prison.

Suddenly I stumbled upon something and fell. I shrieked and held up my camera so that it wouldn't get damaged.

There lay a man. He was tall and muscular, had short brown hair and wore a light grey overall. I sat my camera to the ground carefully and turned the man to his back.

His wrist caught my eye. There was something standing on it. I looked closer. It was a tattoo which said '12/02/78A-84'. What was that supposed to mean?

I glanced at the man's face. Just like the rest of his body it was covered with little cuts and dirt.

Poor guy. He's probably gotten drunk and ended up here - if he was one of the privileged people who were allowed to drink alcohol.

Or maybe... no, it couldn't be. There had never been a prisoner who escaped. But the tattoo and the clothing...

I looked up and saw little pieces of fabric that were stuck in the razor wire. He climbed this fence... Why?

When I grabbed his arm to inspect his tattoo again, I noticed red marks of a handprint on his skin. What happened to him?

Suddenly he blinked. His eyes widened and he sat up straight, grabbing me by my throat with his free hand.

I let go of his other hand and stared at him. His eyes were beautiful. They were of a deep dark brown and seemed to pierce right through me.

"What are you doing?" he croaked and coughed.

"I... I found you here and..." I began and trailed off.

The man took down his hand from my throat and I gasped for air.

"Sorry," the man said, his expression unreadable.

I grabbed my camera and got to my feet. Then I extended my arm to help the man up as well.

"What's your name?" I asked him.

"12/02/78A-84," he answered and laughed dryly. When I gave him a puzzled look, he stopped laughing and gave me a sad half-smile.

"Chris," he stated eventually and shook my hand.

"Tom," I told Chris and smiled back at him.

"Um... let's go to my place - we should get you something to wear and some food," I wondered aloud and Chris nodded.

When we arrived, I opened the door and Chris entered cautiously.

My flat wasn't all that big. It had a living room which I simultaneously used as my bedroom, a kitchen and a small bathroom and that was it.

I went to my closet and searched for some clothes for him to wear. I gave them to him and he smiled thankfully.

"Err... I'll get warm water in two weeks, I hope you're okay with cold water for now," I told Chris and he nodded eagerly.

He went to the small bathroom and I left him alone. I sat down in the living room and waited.

 _What were you thinking, Tom? You committed a crime just by helping him up; he's a prisoner, a stranger!_   _And now you take him home with you, give him clothes, food, water - you don't even know him! You don't know what he has done, what he was in prison for!_ I thought to myself.

I pushed these thoughts away for now. Chris wasn't a bad guy. I had this feeling he wasn't.

 

Chris' P.O.V.

 

As I massaged my scalp, I recalled what happened.

I had escaped the prison. After three years I had managed to get out. I had been found by some guy with a camera whose name was Tom.

What if he would bring me back to prison? What if he worked for the government? What if he  _killed_  me?

It was a crime when someone killed a person. But when an important member of the government did it, it had never happened. Of course.

I stepped out of the shower and took the towel from the neat pile in front of me, where Tom had also put some clothes.

He wasn't working for the government. He just  _couldn't._  I didn't want him to.

I dried myself off and got dressed. Then I left the bathroom and found Tom sitting there.

When he heard me, he turned around and smiled as he scanned me from my head to my feet.

"That's better than the overall," Tom remarked and I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. "Take a seat," he suggested and I sat down on the sofa, right next to him.

"Thank you very much, Tom," I mumbled sheepishly and gazed at my lap.

"You're welcome, Chris," he returned kindly. "Um... you understand that I'll ask you some questions?"

"Yeah, of course," I answered automatically. Shit. Would he ask me stuff and when he found out enough about me, he would bring me back to prison?

"How old are you?" Tom asked.

"21," I replied and looked down.

"How did you get over the fence?"

My head snapped up and I watched Tom's expression for a few seconds before I answered.

"03/18/77A-27 helped me," I said in a sad voice as I thought about Morgan, the guy who died for me, my  _friend_.

"What's '03/18/77A-27'?" Tom asked, air-quoting. He had no idea. Or did he?

"Not 'What?' It's 'Who?'," I corrected him and he stared at me. "'03/18/77A-27' was my friend, Morgan," I told Tom and he gave me a slightly confused look.

"Why 'was'?"

"He... he got shot when he gave me a leg-up," I stammered and barely managed to hold back the tears now.

"Oh... I- I'm sorry," Tom mumbled and we locked glances.

"It's okay. You couldn't have known."

"What's it with the tattooed numbers?" Tom asked me curiously and I turned my wrist.

"This-" I circled 12/02/78. "stands for my date of birth. This-" I pointed at the A. "stands for the class and this-" I pointed at the 84 and trailed off.

"What does the 84 stand for?" Tom observed.

"It says what crime I committed," I said eventually and hung my head low.

We sat there in silence for a few moments. Tom put his hand on my knee and I jumped.

"Whatever crime it was - I won't just send you away now, Chris," he told me and eyed me cautiously.

I raised my head slowly and looked at Tom.

"Thank you, Tom," I returned truthfully and smiled shyly.

 

Tom's P.O.V.

 

He committed crime number 84. What did that mean? I resisted the strong urge to ask further questions and just smiled back at the former prisoner sitting in front of me.

"Can I ask  _you_  something, Tom?" Chris observed and I nodded slowly.

"Yeah, sure."

"What do you work as?"

Chris and I locked glances. I folded my hands in my lap.

"I... I'm a photographer," I replied. Suddenly, I remembered. "OH FUCK!" I exclaimed and Chris gazed at me with a shocked expression.

"I- I have to... I have to bring my boss the pictures I made today," I explained and Chris' face softened.

I pushed myself up from the sofa and grabbed my camera from the shelf.

"Do you mind staying here on your own till I'm back?" I asked. I couldn't believe I had just asked that. I had suggested that Chris, this guy I found today, after his escape from prison, who I barely knew, to stay at my home, alone.

But I trusted him for some odd reason.

Chris shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, don't see why not."

"Okay. I'll be back in about an hour," I announced as I got my jacket and my keys.

Then I left the flat, pushing away the thoughts of Chris burning it down, robbing me or killing my neighbours and headed to the office of my boss.

Chris was a good guy. I was fully convinced that he was.


	3. In your world

Chris P.O.V.

 

I had been sitting here, waiting for Tom for just a few minutes but it felt like hours to me. I missed him somehow.

I looked around the room. There wasn't much furniture - just the sofa, a shelf and a small lamp. But it was nice.

I leaned back and closed my eyes. Then I drifted off. I hadn't slept properly in forever...

 

Tom's P.O.V.

 

I bit my lip nervously and knocked on the door of the office. "Come on in, Mr Kirk!" my boss shouted and I swallowed. Fuck.

I took a deep breath and entered. "Good evening, Mr Bellamy," I mumbled and risked to look at him.

My boss leaned back in his big chair and folded his long, thin fingers. "Good evening... Mr Kirk," he returned with a stern face expression and stood up. Suddenly a huge smile spread across his face and he pulled me into a hug.

"Who are we kidding here, Tom?" Mr Bellamy asked and chuckled.

What the actual fuck was going on? "Erm... I brought you today's photographs," I mumbled eventually and my boss let go of me.

"That's gweat! Lemme see," he said and I handed him the camera. "These are vewy nice," Mr Bellamy commented and raised his glance at me.

"Why have you never been promoted?" he asked now and gave the camera back to me.

"I don't know, Sir," I returned truthfully.

"Don't be silly, Tom. Call me Matt, please," my boss laughed and I gave him a shy half-smile.

"O-okay," I stuttered in irritation. I avoided Mr Bellamy's, pardon, Matt's piercing blue eyes that I knew were resting on me.

"Have you ever been inside the pwison? Talked to pwisoners, things like that?" my boss observed and my heart skipped a beat.

"No," I said. It was half true. I hadn't been inside. But I had talked to Chris...

Matt sighed and rearranged the things on his already overly tidy desk. He made a strange motion with his hand and I gazed at him as he spoke again.

"It's a shame. They never let anybody see. They engage people like us to make the citizens scared, to make them their dead inside workers, their dwones," Matt explained. He swung his feet on the desk and leaned back in his chair. "They make the people think that they get locked in one of the camps, that you get special work there and that you lose your identity."

My boss paused for a second and pinched his nose. Then he glanced at me again.

"But nobody weally knows for sure what happens to you once they contwol you."

When Matt curiously watched my expression or rather my reaction, I quickly nodded and smiled.

"You are a vewy smart person, Thomas Kirk. Just make sure nobody notices," my boss mentioned and gave me a strange and at the same time mysterious looks.

Then he motioned towards the door, telling me to leave. I stood up slowly and strode towards the exit.

"Goodbye, Mr- ... Matt," I mumbled when I was at the door.

"Goodbye, Tom," he returned and I left.

_Just make sure nobody notices..._

I swallowed. Was he threatening me? Warning me? I didn't know. I made my way home as quick as possible.

The first thing I noticed when I entered the flat was the strong smell of cleansing utensils.

I knit my brows in confusion and closed the door behind me. "Chris?" I asked cautiously. Was he okay?

"Here!" he exclaimed and peeked his head out of the living room door.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sure. I just... I just tidied up a little. Eh... it was... hehe... necessary," Chris explained and smirked shyly.

I blushed and looked at my feet. I was ashamed of the chaos and mess in my flat all of the sudden. Well, the chaos and mess that  _had_  been. Chris cleaned up after all.

"Thank you very much, Chris. You didn't have to do that."

He shrugged and snickered. "I did it anyways."

"Thanks again," I repeated and smiled.

We locked glances for a few seconds before we broke eye contact and both of us blushed at the awkward moment.

"Hehe... I have to thank you for taking me here with you," Chris remarked and I shook my head slowly.

"It's just what everybody should be doing when they find themselves in a situation like the one I found myself in today. Show some sympathy. Compassion," I stated and shrugged.

A big smile crept on Chris' face. He skipped towards me and pulled me into a tight hug. I stiffened for a second before I hugged him back. I hadn't hugged someone in ages. And it felt so good.

We stood there, embracing each other for minutes. I didn't want to let go and Chris didn't seem to, either.

After what felt like forever, Chris took his arms away and I quickly hid my disappointment as his comforting warmth faded.

I turned away so that he wouldn't see my bright red face. There was this strange warm feeling inside me - I had never felt this way before. It confused me but it felt so right. I didn't even know why.

I eventually raised my head and Chris' eyes met mine.

He put his hand on my chest, right where my heart was and my already fast heart beat increased its speed rapidly.

I forgot how to breathe, my glance locked with his. Chris let his hand fall to his side again and scanned my face.

"What are you thinking about, Tom?" he asked me and I blushed in embarrassment.

"I-It's nothing," I stuttered quickly.

"You sure?" Chris observed and I nodded.

"Yeah," I assured him and waved him off.

He gave me a slightly worried look, then he turned away.

An awkward silence came up.

"What was it like? In prison?" I asked eventually and Chris raised his eyes at me.

"I..." Chris' voice was bleak all of the sudden. "I'm not sure if I can tell you..."

I knit my brows in confusion.

"...if I can trust you, Tom," he finished his sentence.

Ouch. I quickly put on a blank face expression to hide how that had hurt me.

"You can trust me. I'll never tell anyone. I promise," I stated and Chris laughed without humour.

"I've been told that many times before. Don't make promises you can't keep," Chris said in an acid voice.

He gazed at me for a few seconds before his face softened.

"Sorry, Tom," he mumbled apologetically and hugged me.

I remained silent. We sat down in the living room again and Chris stared holes into the ground absentmindedly.

"It was horrible," he whispered flatly and my head snapped up.

Chris, the man that looked so big and strong, suddenly turned out to be so vulnerable and hurt. What had he been through? I couldn't imagine.

"What did they do to you?" I asked cautiously.

Chris made a weird noise and I froze. He was sobbing.

I wrapped my arms around him because I didn't know what else to do in a situation like this.

He continued crying and I let him.

"Th-they... tortured us," Chris choked out and I rubbed his back. "They let us starve, made us work until we... blacked out because of sleep deprivation, hit us, burned us..." he explained and swallowed.

I felt his tears fall onto my back and continued holding him.

"They won't lock you up in there again," I promised soothingly and Chris sniffed. "You're safe here," I added and let go of him.

"For you it so easy," Chris said. He sniffed and looked at me. "In your world, you get to have a job, get food... You get a place to live. A  _nice_  place to live. And you're treated nicely. You don't have to be afraid that just one day you wake up and one of the guards in the prison takes you out of your cell, drags you to the backyard and shoots you in the neck. You don't- You never had to be afraid to that. I had to. And I've seen my friends or rather fellow prisoners being led out of their cells and... they never returned."

I swallowed and looked at him. "They... they did that kind of things?" I asked.

Chris scanned my shocked expression and nodded. "Yes, they did. And that was one of the methods to do it fast and with least amount of pain. So... You use that kind of mentality to calm yourself... You're just so close to being killed at every second. Every breath you take feels like it is like toxic even though it's just air. You know that one day you're gonna die anyway. But still you're not ready for that. Do you know what I mean?"

I glanced at him and gave him a brief nod. "I know what you mean. Even though I haven't been in a situation like you so... You will understand that I can't exactly feel what you felt. And-"

Chris interrupted me. "You don't want to feel like that, trust me."

I nodded my agreement. "What are we going to do now?" I observed, looking at my lap.

"I don't know either, Tom," he stated and shrugged. "Maybe... Maybe we should- no. We can't... we can't ask anybody to help us. Or t-to help  _me_. Well, I... I brought you in this situation and I am so sorry."

"Don't. Don't be, Chris," I said quickly and his dark eyes met mine. "You don't have to be sorry for needing help, Chris," I stated and he wrapped his arms around me.

"Thank you so much, Tom. You don't know how much that means to me. I... I have never met someone with a heart as big as yours. I am... I'm serious, Tom."


	4. A guest

Chris' P.O.V.

 

I somehow wanted to kiss him. I wanted it bad. But how would he react? Probably kick me out...

I sighed lowly and Tom gave me a confused and at the same time worried look. "What is it?" he asked and I shook my head.

"I was... just in thoughts," I replied and Tom nodded slowly.

"Errm... I should... Imma prepare the couch for you," Tom stated and both of us stood up.

"But... where do  _you_  sleep then?" I observed and raised my eyebrows.

"I'm gonna sleep on the flo- don't you even think about protesting. I bet you haven't really gotten much sleep in prison and I want you to feel comfortable," Tom remarked and I nodded, defeated.

When everything was done, Tom motioned for me to lay down on the couch.

Tom flopped himself down on the blankets he had put on the floor and switched the lights off.

"Good night, Chris. Sleep well," Tom mumbled into the darkness.

"Good night, Tom," I returned and closed my eyes.

 

~

 

I woke to the blare of a siren and immediately shot up from the couch to look around, frantically searching for the source of the noise. I had heard this before...

"Hey, Chris, are you okay?" Tom muttered sleepily.

"D-Did your hear that?" I asked, still unmoved.

"Yes, of course. It's the siren from the prison. My alarm clock, haha," Tom replied and laughed dryly.

I exhaled in relief. So that was where I knew it from. The siren that woke all the prisoners every morning, telling them to get ready for work. For a little moment I had thought I was back there...

Tom unwrapped the blankets around him and trotted to the bathroom.

I sat down on the couch and waited. My heart was still beating like fucking crazy. It was weird how that one sound could make me freak out... I assumed it was a trauma I had suffered during my stay in prison.

Tom came back inside the bed/living room and grabbed his camera from the shelf.

"Imma get to work... You just do what the fuck you want to, alright? But I would be pleased if you didn't cause any trouble, okay?" Tom suggested and gave me a small smile.

I nodded eagerly. "Sure," I answered.

 

~

 

Tom's P.O.V.

 

I closed the door behind me and walked down the stairs. I was kinda curious what task Mr Bellamy, pardon,  _Matt_  had for me today.

When I arrived at the house my boss had his office in, I rang the bell.

The door was opened by a small red haired woman whom I hadn't seen before.

"Good morning," I greeted her. She remained silent.

I went inside and skipped towards the end of the hallway, where Matt's office was.

"Come in!" he shouted just as I had raised my hand to knock. Creepy...

I entered the office and closed the door behind me.

"Good morning, Tom!" Matt exclaimed cheerfully and stood up from his chair. He stalked towards me and pulled me into a tight embrace. It would take me some more time to get used to this...

"Good morning," I returned and the two of us awkwardly stood there for a few seconds. "So?" I asked eventually.

"Um... we'll have a guest today," Matt announced and pursed his lips.

_A guest? We've never had a guest before..._

When I didn't answer, Matt spoke up. "His name is Mister Tom Morello. You may have heard of him before," he explained and my eyes widened.

Of course I had heard of Tom Morello before. He was one of the high politicians that had come from the US to work in this region - to actually help the people. But what the fuck was this guy doing here, where the people could not be helped anymore?

Matt and I waited for about half an hour until there was a knock on the door.

I stood up and opened it.

Mr Morello entered the room. He was dressed in a neat black suit with a dark blue tie to it. One would immediately notice he was a person of authority by the way he walked, how he looked around with his dark eyes searching for something hidden, how he stood straight.

"Good morning, Mr Bellamy. Mr Kirk," Mr Morello said as he shook our hands.

We returned the greetings and Matt motioned for the politician to sit down.

"Well, I'm not a person that talks and talks forever before getting to the point," Mr Morello stated, his gaze flickering between Matt and I. That sounded like the exact contrary of what politicians did...

"My boss wanted to see more of your work, Mr Kirk. He even begged me to take you to his place - he really wants to meet the creator of those amazing pictures," the politician said and chuckled, rubbing his bald head. "He's especially interested in the pictures of the prison. Have you ever been beyond the fence?"

I shook my head.

"Huh... it would be interesting to know what it looked like inside," Mr Morello remarked.

"Even  _you_  have never been inside the prison?" I asked in disbelief and immediately regretted it. Matt cut a quick glance at me.

_Just make sure nobody notices..._

"No, I haven't," Mr Morello replied.

"Would it be okay with you if I went for a little walk with Mr Kirk?" he asked eventually, turning his head to face Matt now.

"Yes, of course, sir," he answered.

"Fine then. Let's go," Mr Morello suggested and stood up.

I did the same and followed him to the door. I looked over my shoulder for one last time to see Matt's kind of scared face, then Mr Morello and I went outside.

The red haired woman from before closed the door behind us and we made our way down the street.

The tall man walking next to me handed me a newspaper. I could tell by the looks of it that it was old.

"What do you know about that?" he asked me.

"Um... excuse me, sir?" I observed in confusion.

"Look at the title," Mr Morello told me, rolling his eyes.

I did. And it was very hard for me to not let my face show what I felt as I read it.

**_'CRIME NUMBER 84'_ **


End file.
